My yellow bathroom

Alone in my house,
On a day that could have been my last,
A day of sickness and of death,
Of bodies piling up around the world on CNN,
A day that I, too, could have woken up feverish 
And coughing and barely breathing,
I decided that now might be as good a time as any 
To paint my bathroom yellow. 

Now I realize that, for others,
That day might have been better spent in prayer
Or solemn reflection of sins yet unrepented,
A day of singing songs of hope from balconies 
Or clapping for doctors and nurses or beating drums,
But I, instead, alone at home,
Chose to spend that precious day that could have been my last, 
Painting my bathroom yellow.

With no higher purpose than to find some paint, a roller and a brush, 
I went downstairs and found a can half full of paint
The color of the Sun drawn by a Crayola crayon.
I brought the can upstairs, dipped in my brush and began to stroke the wall with color. 
And, when I did, the dread of death and loneliness began to melt away 
Until the whole room began to blaze with golden fervor.
When I was done, I realized that the day was gone 
And it was night and I had spent the day,
That precious day that could have been my last,
Free of fear and full of love, 
Painting my bathroom yellow.


Rosalind Resnick
April 16, 2020

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